Solid as Stone
by Petraverd
Summary: Each of the statues in the Witch's courtyard has a story to tell. This is one of them. The tale of Jasper the Unicorn, the first to feel the effects of Jadis's wand.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Hoo boy, this one has been bouncing around for a long time. This went through several drafts before I finally settled upon a style I liked. As I've put so much thought into this story as a whole and so much work into getting the first part OUT, I'm bound and determined to see this thing through to the end. So keep me accountable. ;) Many many thanks to Inky and Cherokee for agreeing to beta this for me and to the e-Inklings for support. Also... this one goes out to Elecktrum. Thanks for letting me bounce a few ideas off you and being gracious enough to allow me to borrow a bit of your awesome work for later chapters. :D Okay, enough of that. On with the story.

* * *

**_Prologue_**

_Every now and then an afternoon would come in the Waste where the weather was nothing short of spectacular. Warm sunlight filtered down through the treetops to the ground below, unhampered by a cloudless sky. It may have been summertime, and thus expected to be somewhat hot, but such this went beyond the general warmth. The gentle breeze coupled with the dazzling display of light as it meandered its way through the canopy of leaves brought with it a warmth not just to the skin, but to the soul as well. For any fortunate enough to be out and about on such a day, it would be difficult to feel anything but pure bliss from the dance of sunbeams all around them._

_Difficult, but not impossible._

_The figure pacing about in a small clearing was evidence enough of that. A lone unicorn stallion moved back and forth in a little circle, light glinting off his indigo horn and coaxing its way through his mane in an effort to soften the dark expression on his face. A brave attempt, but an unsuccessful one. For the thoughts flitting through the unicorn's mind were anything but pleasant, and the war between the warm without and the cold within was no contest. His face was as rigid as rock, dark eyes dull and perhaps somewhat chilled, his steps pensive. He shook his mane, the soft sound of his hoofbeats on the grass increasing a little as he started to pace faster._

_From the trees came a soft but firm voice, as effortless as the breeze surrounding the clearing._

_"You don't have to do this if you're not ready, you know."_

_Perched atop a nearby rock sat the source of the voice, blending in rather well with the leafy canopy above and behind her. It was what seemed to be a woman, but upon looking at her closer, her manner gave her away as not a woman but a dryad. Something different in her movement, her voice, her expression – difficult to describe but unmistakable to any familiar with the subtle differences. She looked up on the unicorn with a compassionate face, saying nothing more than the few words she'd just spoken._

_The stallion looked back to her, shaking his head. He took a breath before he spoke in a firm voice, "If I waited until I was ready this would never be done. No. The time is now or never. And if this is to do any good, it must be now."_

_The dryad couldn't tell whether his words were meant to convince her or the stallion himself. Letting a simple nod suffice as her reply, the dryad took up a quill and parchment. Made from plant fibers, yes, but all given by friends of hers who knew what purpose they would be used for – and who thought it a worthy cause. Glancing back to the unicorn and giving another small nod, she waited._

_For his part, the unicorn halted his pacing for a moment, weighing for what seemed like the hundredth time the numerous reasons not to do this quite yet. All of them seemed mere excuses to the single reason he could think of __to act now – that if he didn't, he never would. And he needed to do it at some point._

_Resolved, he turned to the dryad. "Take this down."_

_And as he spoke, the dryad dutifully wrote down every word._

* * *

My name is Jasper, and this is a story that must be told.

It is the story of a young rabbit, lost and separated from his family, unfortunate enough to take a wrong turn that would lead to his fate.

It is the story of a brave fox, seeking to make a difference and paying a terrible price.

It is the story of countless others – dwarfs, dryads, dogs, horses, fauns, satyrs, centaurs – I cannot even hope to list them all.

And it is also my story.

The story of a rash unicorn who thought he could solve a problem and ended up finding himself in much deeper waters than he intended, finding the consequences to be more than he could ever imagine.

These stories may, on the surface, all seem to be very different. But at their very core there is a vein that beats the same in them all. That is the tie that links us. The chasms dividing us are great. But this solitary thread is enough to bring us all together.

We are survivors, trying to cope with the memories of our past. They are painful. They are unpleasant. They are hardly even speakable, the horrors that we have seen.

As difficult as it is, however, speak of them we must. As terrifying as it is to us, and as frightening as it may be for others to read, ours are stories that must be told.

I was told that I was the first to experience these things, the first to feel the effects of the common link that we all now share. As such, I believe that it is up to me to start the process of telling these stories.

It is my hope that in talking about what we have tried to hide for such a long time, we can finally begin to heal. It was not just our bodies that were turned to stone – no, it went much deeper than that. Our hearts, our very souls, were shaken and frozen as well. Aslan was able to set our bodies straight. And as to the rest, his breath was able to kindle the flame to melt our petrified hearts and souls. It is up to us to fan that flame, however. Perhaps in telling my story, I will finally be able to come to terms with what I have seen and felt. Even now I am not certain I am ready to set these words to paper through one of my closest friends. But with her support and the grace of Aslan, I hope to make it through, and in doing so, find comfort. And to lead others to do the same.

We may be pained by these memories. But we must remember one other thing: not only are we survivors, we have been given a second chance. Though it may not appear as we expect it to, those of us who have felt the effects of the Witch's wand have another chance to live life as the Lion would want us to.

I am taking that chance in the best way I can think of. I choose not to let these thoughts haunt me a moment longer. And it is my wish that I will lead others to make the same choice.

For as long as these memories plague our minds, her hold is still felt. Only when we let the flame left in our hearts grow enough to melt the icy chains that bind such thoughts to us will we be truly free.

And it is only then that Narnia will be rid of her forever.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_The dryad paused, glancing over all she'd just written. "Quite a forceful start, don't you think, Jasper?"_

_Shaking his mane, the stallion replied simply, "I've had a lot of time to think about all this."_

_Silence fell between the two of them as the dryad accepted this without question. Jasper resumed his pacing, leaving the soft whisper of the wind uninterrupted as he collected his thoughts. Several moments passed before the dryad chose to interject. "It's a strong beginning. But a beginning is nothing if not followed up."_

_This was enough to halt Jasper's pacing. "Don't rush me."_

"_Think of it as firm encouragement. You know I would not rush you in such a matter."_

"_You would if I thought I had to rush."_

_The firm reply came swiftly. "You said yourself if you didn't do this now, you never would."_

_All the unicorn gave in answer was a reluctant snort. He allowed his rigid demeanor to melt a little, moving over to the dryad. "I just don't know where to start. There's so much going through my head."_

_The dryad didn't respond right away, instead studying the stallion's stance. His tail was flicking often, a sure sign, at least for Jasper, that he wasn't entirely comfortable. She reached up to rest a hand on his mane._

"_Courage, my friend. You lived through it once. You relived it when you told me. And as you feel it is time to relive it again, you must find the strength to see it through to the end."_

_Looking him in the eye as best she could, she added firmly, "And I shall aid you how I can every step of the way."_

_A small smile cracked the surface of Jasper's face. "Thank you. Makes it a little easier."_

_Nodding, the dryad returned the smile. She glanced back to her stack of parchment briefly, silent but her intent clear._

_It didn't take Jasper long to catch her meaning. He took a deep breath, set his expression again, and spoke, the dryad again setting his words to paper._

--

Any proper tale should start at the beginning. It is difficult to know precisely where that is in my case. With some stories it is clear where the proper beginning is. It is not hard to find a single point, one single decision, that acted as the catalyst to set off the chain of events. Other times, however, no such point exists. Instead, there is a chain of small, maybe even seemingly insignificant events that eventually build to a climax nobody could have foreseen. This is the kind of story that mine is.

It is, therefore, a slight bit difficult to know which bits of my story are important to the whole, and which I can gloss over. There is no reason to detail my entire life to this point, but it is hard to know what to leave out. I cannot even be certain as to how far back my story truly begins.

But I must start somewhere. An entire story of ramblings will accomplish nothing.

Perhaps the best way I can start my story is to start with myself. We are all unique individuals, none of us will act in quite the same way in any situation. In starting with myself, maybe I can provide a clearer picture of the "why" behind the things I have yet to say.

What, though, can I say about myself? I am not sure what it is that makes Jasper the Unicorn distinct from everyone else, for I _am_ Jasper the Unicorn. My reactions come naturally to me, I hardly see anything "unusual" to mention, because being myself, it is _all_ "usual" to me.

In that case, I suppose I will simply talk about my tendencies that might have bearing on my story later on.

First and foremost of these, at least to my mind, is my inability to be... inactive. Perhaps that is not the best phrasing for it, but I find it very difficult to simply be still. My friend penning these words for me can vouch for this – she is watching me pace even now as I speak. I get restless easy. It is difficult for me to settle. I suppose I am like a river that way. At times, a river can rush as quick as any tempest, swift enough to sweep away anything in its path. Other times, it drifts lazily by, barely able to be bothered to carry a leaf or two along with it. But whether it is quick or slow, it is always in motion. So too, I suppose, am I.

Such restlessness causes more than just idle twitchings in me, though. It also means I have difficulty standing by when action needs to be taken. I prefer to be on the front lines, rather than stay in the background and let things unfold around me. It can be both a blessing and a curse at times – if you are not sure of this yet, I am sure my story will reveal the truth of this.

This, then, explains part of what I think of myself. "Restless" is a word I've often used to describe myself. Others use different words in regard to my personality. One I often hear is the word "loyal." I am not sure how accurate this term is. Yet I do know that I hold those I love in very high regard. Sometimes this is what tempers my restlessness, other times it is what spurs it to action.

With these two aspects of my personality explained, I believe I can give a more accurate picture of events leading up to my story. I do not like winter – my restlessness prevents it. Spring is full of life, summer warm and inviting, full of things to do and people to see. Autumn even holds a certain flair of sorts – there is nothing so pleasant as a brisk run while the wind swirls the colors of the leaves all around you. Winter, however, brings nothing but stillness. The snow is stifling - it is hard to move in, much less fun. Ice stops the motion of the waters in its tracks. I have already compared myself to a river, and as the winter stops the river, so too do I find it stifling. The freeze extends to more than just water, it very nearly freezes movement entirely.

As a result, I tend to prefer to spend my winters away from the waste. The snow and ice does not hit other parts of Narnia quite as hard as it hits the waste. It is those parts that I prefer to stay during the winter months. My restlessness is not quite so frustrating that way.

I do not stay away as long as I might like, though. For I have difficulty imagining Christmas away from my family, they always like to have us all together then, and Christmas falls within the dreaded winter. This is where my apparent loyalty comes in. I endure a little time of winter in the waste for th sake of the holiday and my family. I remain in the woods until Father Christmas pays our family a visit, and then I move on not many days after. I keep out of the waste until at least the time of the thaw then. Sometimes my restless hooves keep me from returning even longer than that. Though I always do my best to keep in contact – I have known a lot of birds because of this, they usually make excellent messengers.

This is my general tradition, of sorts. For the sake of my family I remain nearby despite my abhorrence of winter. Then after Father Christmas' arrival, I head out to avoid further effects of the dreadful winter in the waste.

One winter, however, did not go that way.

And I suppose that it is there that I can properly begin my story.

--

_Pausing to dip her quill again, the dryad said simply, "I was wondering where you were going with that."_

_A small snorty sound that could be construed as an equine chuckle came from the stallion's direction. "I guess it was a fair amount of rambling. But maybe the story will make more sense to those who know the storyteller."_

"_I concur. But I do believe it's time to step away from the background and tell the story properly."_

_Silence._

_The Unicorn was a little hesitant before he spoke again. "You're right. Enough stalling... it's time to truly start this."_

_He closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and hoped his scribe could keep up with his words._

_There was much to be said, after all. And this was merely the start._


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: **All right, I know it's been a while... I find myself drifting towards original pieces rather than fanfic these days, but I'm doing my best not to neglect what I've started, either. I'm determined to finish this at some point.

* * *

**_Chapter Two_**

The winter I speak of is, of course, that Long Winter which will surely be remembered in history for many years to come. It started as any other did, though, and as such hardly any of us saw it for what it was right at the start.

As was usual for me at the time, I had held off my wanderings to stay with my family for Christmas. It always made me restless and uneasy, but as Father Christmas always came fairly close to the start of winter, I felt I could endure it. Some years he came later than he did others, but it was always towards the beginning of the cold that held the waste in its stifling grasp. Since it was not terribly long after the snow and ice fell that he came, relatively speaking, I kept my restless nature in check for the sake of spending time with my family.

This winter, however, became an exception to the usual course of things.

Being on this end of things, after that all has ended, it is very easy to find out the effects of the Witch's spell were twofold - that it would always be winter, and that it would never be Christmas. You must understand what it looked like from our point of view, before we even knew anything had yet happened. The arrival of Father Christmas was as regular as the rising and setting of the sun. It was therefore odd not to see him when we expected him.

We all thought he was simply occupied elsewhere. Perhaps he'd decided to start his rounds in Archenland this year for a change. Or maybe even someplace further that we didn't even really know about. He had a lot of deliveries to make and they would take a while. Maybe we were just further down the list this time around. And so we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Many of us had a similar reason for waiting so long before suspecting something was up. Christmas is a much loved time here, after all. A lot of us couldn't wait for it to come, for the joy and the cheer it always brought. Father Christmas's kind and friendly nature was infectious, and we couldn't help but associate it with the season as well.

But as for myself, I was rather different.

Though I am somewhat ashamed to admit it now, I grew impatient for rather selfish reasons. I was tired of waiting, and wanted to move on. I felt confined to the waste, tethered by my own loyalty to my family, and wanted out. And so as the days became weeks, and Father Christmas still had yet to be seen, I grew sullen and irritable. My patience wore thin as my time in the waste grew longer. Others wondered why Father Christmas had not come yet. I couldn't have cared less, I am sorry to say - I simply wanted him to come so I could get Christmas over and done with, and head out.

Time dragged on, however, and still he did not come.

In fact, the time for the thaw was drawing near, and nobody in Narnia had seen any sign of him.

This, then, is where I shall open my story.

I awoke one dreary gray day that resembled so many others in my now-usual melancholy dissatisfaction. My family spent their nights in a small cove hidden a little ways from a trickling stream that flowed out of Cauldron Pool. Plesantly out of the way, it provided enough solitude so that we could rest easy, but not so seculded that we could easily become secluded.

In the springtime it was a nice place to be. Flowers blossomed, the stream burbled as it lazily made its way along, and the sun gave plenty of warmth. In the winter, though, it was wretched, at least to my mind. Though secluded, the cove we stayed in did not do terribly much in the way of warmth, and the cheerful jabbering of the water ceased. Not a sign of green could be detected by the eye, only the long bony branches of trees stretching skyward like the fingers of a withered skeleton.

That morning I emerged from our sleeping place even surlier than was normal for me then. I didn't want to get out and face yet another dragging day of sameness, the bland white and stifiling weather that continued to keep me bound to the waste. But nor did I want to stay still all day long. That wouldn't have settled with me either. So, deciding between the lesser of two evils, I went out.

Once again I was greeted with the same view I'd seen for so long. I shivered a little, my hooves getting used to being buried in snow again. The chill that came as I became accustomed to standing in the layer that covered the ground was becoming all too familiar, and I was glad that the thaw was supposedly on its way. Trodding through the stuff a few paces, I wondered if there was anything I could do that might hurry spring along.

"Doubt it," I muttered to myself under my breath.

Everywhere I looked the same colorless scene met my eye. In a momentary bout of frustration, I kicked at the snow with a forehoof, letting out a derisive snort. After the small flurry had settled, a rather sorry-looking patch of grass stared back at me. Struggling to keep itself together, after being trodden on by unicorn hooves and buried under a layer of snow, but at least present. I found this both comforting and annoying at the same time - comforting that yes, there still was something under there, annoying in that I still had to dig for it.

Staring at the little patch for a moment, I willed it to grow bigger, for the thaw to hit and relieve me of the walls closing in around me, to give me my freedom back. Who cared if Christmas hadn't come yet, I was tired of waiting and once spring came I would be off and back to my content meanderings.

I gave another snort as I kicked again. "Come on already! I can't wait forever!"

"Wait for what?"

The curious little voice that had snuck up behind me made me whirl. All that met my line of vision was a little indigo horn tip. Glancing downward a little, I soon saw the rest of the horn, along with the young colt it was attached to. With a heavy sigh, I avoided the question for the moment with a simple, "Morning, Quam."

Aquamar, usually just Quam to the rest of us, was my younger brother and a whirlwind of questions. Never in the annoying sense, though. His curiosity was genuine, and he wondered about the little nuances of everything. He was a bright-eyed colt, in both a literal sense, with his dancing blue eyes, and a figurative one, his happy-go-lucky demeanor able to find something fun and pleasant in nearly everything. For example, though I was disgusted and frustrated with the cover of snow, he seemed to get enjoyment of sending a little spray of snow all about with his forehoof as he'd seen me do. He watched the flurry with an amused expression, then trotted closer to nudge my leg in an affectionate sort of greeting.

"Hullo Jasper. Pretty day, isn't it?"

I grimaced and forced out a noncomittal sort of noise in reply. Though we were quite obviously taking different sides to that statement, I couldn't bring myself to squelch his natural enthusiasm, either.

Quam grinned at me again, and pulled away in order to trot around in the snow. More like 'prance,' really, though that's generally not a term used on colts. We're not particularly fond of it at that age. Regardless, Quam managed to contain all the joy and energy and happiness I couldn't bring myself to even bother giving the impression of. We two were different, that was clear, and it took no more than our reaction to winter to prove it.

And yet still, despite our glaring differences at times, I loved him no less. He was my brother, and that was all there was to it. Yes, he admittedly made things difficult every now and then. But I suffered a bit of winter for my family's sake, and I was willing to suffer for his as well. So too did I know he would do the same for me, though I hoped it would never have to come to that.

He continued his happy frolicking for a bit, then came back over to me. "What's the matter, Jasper? Don't you think it's pretty?"

I couldn't keep up the pretense, even for his sake. "Quam... not really, no. I'm actually a little tired of it. I'm ready for spring. I've never really been much for winter."

Quam kicked again, sending a little flurry of snow about the both of us. "I kinda like it."

"Why?"

"Well, it's fun! Stuff you can't do any other time of year. Everything's all white and a little glittery and you can see the little bird tracks and everything. It's nice."

I snorted a bit. "Maybe. And also cold. And confining."

He was quiet, and nudged me again. "You wanna go again, don't you..."

"Yes. I do."

My brother ducked his head a little and shuffled a hoof in the snow, and I felt a pang of guilt. I did try to drop by to give him a visit or two every so often, but they were never for very long. Christmastide was the longest I ever kept around, and this time around I'd been home even longer. It was unusual for him, and he apparently wanted it to last.

With another sigh, I returned the nudge. "I'm just restless, Quam. You know I don't like to sit still. Though I _do_ like spending time with you."

A little smile accompanied his reply. "That's good. I like it too."

He shivered a little.

Concerned older brother that I tended to be, I give him a firmer nudge in the general direction of the caverns. "You shouldn't be out for a long time, it's cold and you need to stay warm."

"Well what about you?"

"I'll be in later. I just can't stand being inside a lot."

"Well me either!"

He could be downright frustrating at times. Then again, I couldn't deny the fact maybe some of that tenacity had been picked up from his brother.

I opened my mouth to give him a firmer reply, but he beat me to it. "Still... it _is_ really cold. Colder than last year. Not the same cold, either."

Now it was my turn to be curious. "What do you mean?"

Scrunching up his brow in thought, making little wrinkles around his horn, he tried to put his thoughts into words. "It's cold outside, but it gets cold inside too when you're out for a while. Not like last winter. It just feels different, that's all."

I jerked my head in what passes for a shrug among us equine sorts. "All the more reason for you to get where it's a bit warmer."

"Yeah, I guess."

He trudged off a few paces, then looked back. "You going to come in a bit later and tell me another story?"

One of Quam's favorite pastimes was to sit and listen to me talk about my travels. He'd done it a lot this winter, and I was quite out of stories to tell, though he insisted on hearing his favorites over and over and over. I wasn't terribly in the mood for it, but he'd used that hopeful tone of his that was too hard to deny.

"I will."

With a happy whinny, he trotted back in.

When he was out of sight, I thought back on what he'd said. I hadn't really noticed much of a difference this winter, but that could have been because I always despised it. _Was_ there really something deeper to this winter? I couldn't be sure. Nor, I am sorry to say, did I think my brother could have been either. I swiftly discounted it for the time being, chalking it up to his youthful perception that wasn't quite clear enough yet.

If only I'd thought to consider his words more carefully. Things might have turned out differently if I had.

* * *

_"Such little things... and yet how important they seem later on."_

_The dryad simply nodded to the stallion's words, taking note of his last few statements. The unicorn, for his part, seemed stuck in another time. His expression was distant and his dark eyes clouded, lost in thought of memories._

_Glancing over to her companion, the dryad ceased her writing. "You cannot dwell forever on what could have been, Jasper. It will do you no good."_

_He shook his mane in reply. "I know, I know. It still hurts, though. Quam... I should have treated him better. If I had, then maybe..."_

_"Stop."_

_She cut him off before he could take the thought further along its course. "You do not know that, Jasper. And how things are settled now is what you need to deal with."_

_Jasper winced, and plodded off a pace or two. The stallion was clearly having difficulties. Well, that was clear from the start. But perhaps now they were getting to be a little much._

_The dryad set her pile of parchment aside and rose from her perch, moving over to rest a hand on the stallion. He stirred at the touch, and the fatigue in his eyes was more than enough to determine her course of action. Her voice was softer as she spoke._

_"I know it still hurts. It would be difficult for anyone, and how much more when it is added on top of all you have had to face. But there is no sense questioning what could have been done. It only makes the present that much harder to accept."_

_She paused, and he nodded. Agreement. That was a first step._

_"We do not have to get the whole story told in one day, Jasper. Perhaps it is time we took a rest."_

_Another nod, more firm this time, from the stallion. "I think that would be ideal."_

_Nodding in return, the dryad offered a faint smile. "We need not continue until you are ready. Take whatever time you need."_


End file.
